


Absent Friends and Old Gods

by raven_aorla



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020), The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Discussion of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, M/M, Sandman Knowledge Optional, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts, but not the focus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27398131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: Booker sold out his team in the desperate hope of dying one day. In the process of fighting their way out again, they end up rescuing another test subject: a man in his 600's whose immortality is directly tied to his own will to live. Hob Gadling might well be someone Booker would benefit from being around.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache & Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Hob Gadling, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless & Hob Gadling
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _“To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due.”_  
>  \- Hob Gadling, in a toast with Morpheus, Dream of the Endless. 
> 
> Note:
> 
> Canon doesn't state what happens if Hob Gadling gets grievously injured, other than not dying from it, and we do know he can feel hunger and pain. I took liberties with the mechanics of whatever secondary gifts he might need for immortality not to be a curse for him, and went with something I thought would be cool for the story and would allow for some implied Kozak evilness.

There isn’t time to talk much to the other prisoner they end up rescuing on their way out. During one of Joe’s deaths, Nicky overheard Kozak mentioning that there is one, and that his healing style is different than theirs. 

They find the stranger chained to a wall with bright lights and loud, discordant music playing, a number of methodical shallow cuts on his naked torso, arms, and face in addition to the bloodshot eyes, dark circles, and confusion of extreme sleep deprivation. Clean-shaven, reddish-brown hair and brown eyes. He looks to be in his thirties, but if he’s immortal too, that means nothing. His sweatpants hang loose around his hips and there are no shoes or additional clothing for him to wear. Booker gives him his jacket. He’s confused and slow, so Booker ends up carrying him much of the way, temporarily placing him in a corner or against a wall if he needs two hands to fight. 

(Booker does the carrying because Andy is injured, Nile is focusing on protecting Andy, and Joe and Nicky have been through enough already. Really, though, it’s Booker because he desperately wants to have done _one_ thing today that isn’t fucking up or trying to unfuck his fucking up.)

The man doesn’t say anything coherent until they’ve all piled into a stolen minivan that seats six. Even then, they’re at least ten minutes into the drive when he says in a dry voice, “You, in the green? You’re American, aren’t you?” He has an English accent, but one of the regional ones, not one of the posh ones. Booker’s ability to differentiate the different flavors of British stops there. 

Nile pauses in wiping blood out of her face and swivels around. “My name’s Nile, and yes, I am.”

He grimaces. “Nile. I’m sorry. I’m more sorry than you can believe, and I’ll never make it right. I thought maybe that business was my comeuppance at last.”

“Damn, being American isn’t that tragic,” she replies with dry humor. 

He shakes his head, then allows it to hang low in some combination of exhaustion and shame. “Wasn’t what I meant.”

“You’ve done none of us any wrong,” Nicky says. He’s still clinging to the two guns he picked up to use in the battle. The brain matter clinging to the back of his head is more nauseating to Booker than usual, not that such a thing is ever a pretty sight. 

“ _You’ve_ done none of us any wrong,” Joe says. He’s not looking at anyone except Nicky, but his tone is like a finger pointed right at Booker. 

The dull ache in Booker’s chest intensifies. “It’ll be some time before we stop, uh, sir. It’d be a good idea to try getting some sleep.”

“Not ‘sir’ anymore. That was a long time ago.” He tentatively leans on Booker’s shoulder, then settles. “Call me Gadling.”

****

Gadling wakes to find himself lying on a pullout sofa in a dingy, drafty flat, tucked in a blanket. It’s the best awakening he’s had in a long time. The man who gave him his jacket and helped him out of the laboratory is sitting in a chair and reading a dusty, dog-eared novel. He’s also lifting a bottle of cheap hard cider to his mouth.

“Where are the others?” Gadling asks. He notices a plain shirt, still wrapped in plastic with a price tag on it, next to his pillow and begins the process of getting it out and on. 

The bottle pauses in its journey. The man looks him up and down. “You’re all healed.”

“I don’t heal right away like I saw some of you lucky sods do, I heal either at the normal rate or in my sleep.” He hopes he isn’t coming across as rude, he just doesn’t have the energy to be especially polite right now. 

“Do you need less sleep than other people?”

“No, and I’m hoping for more sleep, but I need to piss. What’s your name?”

“Call me Booker. That way’s the toilet. Joe and Nicky have one of the bedrooms, Andy and Nile have the other. We may heal right away, for the most part, but we need extra sleep afterwards. Normally Andy and I might share, but…”

“Ah, you two are together?”

Booker winces in a way that suggests the issue goes deeper than love trouble. “No, we’ve never been each other’s types, we’re just used to sharing space without making it a big deal. But Joe and Nicky are. I volunteered to keep you company.”

When Gadling returns from his adventures in pissing in _private_ , something he never knew he’d be so grateful for, there’s buttered toast and a cup of tea waiting on the small dining table, evidently prepared in the tiny kitchenette off to the side. Booker gestures to indicate that it’s for him. He wolfs it all down. 

“I thought it would be good to start simple in case you hadn’t eaten for a long time, but we do have other things here,” Booker says once it’s all gone. 

“I’d murder for a proper ale right now, not chilled, preferably brewed by my mum,” Gadling sighs. Not that he remembers what it tasted like, at least not outside of dreams.

Booker offers him the cider, and Gadling takes a swig. Booker’s eyes are as tired as Gadling feels. “We didn’t know there was anyone else like us at all, even with differences in details.”

“There are several of us out there, knocking about, but it’s not always under the same terms and conditions.” He wonders if the Raja is still safe out there. And Mad Hetty. 

“Can you lose your immortality? We can, but there’s no warning. Maybe if we knew more, we could understand more.” Sadness and guilt weighs down his words, a kind of sadness and guilt Gadling has heard only from people who’ve lived long enough to make more mistakes than a mortal lifespan would ever have time for. Including himself.

Gadling has never told another person this much about his immortality, though he has slipped a little information here and there that people tend not to believe. He owes it to Booker and his friends, though, and they are unlikely to use this against him. He takes a few more gulps of the cider and hands back the bottle. “I can only die if I want to.”

Booker stares at him, unblinking, for several seconds. Then bursts out laughing. At first it’s confusing laughter, but then it becomes alarming and mixed with sobs, cry-laughing into his hands. It rouses the other four, who all emerge from the bedrooms holding weapons, but when Gadling gestures towards Booker to make it clear what the source of the noise is, Joe-and-Nicky (Gadling doesn’t know who is who yet) go back to bed without a word. 

“You want to talk about it?” Nile asks, but yawns despite herself. Booker has the presence of mind to shake his head.

Andy hands her gun to Nile. “Get some more rest, kid. I’ve got this.”

Booker mutters something in a language Gadling doesn’t know. Andy responds in what seems to be a different one. He gets up and trails off in the direction of the toilet, not letting Gadling see his face. Andy watches him go but doesn’t move to touch him.

“I hope I didn’t offend him somehow,” Gadling says.

Andy plops down on Booker’s vacated chair, then suppresses a little gasp of pain. Gadling vaguely remembers the others taking bullets for her during the fight. The discussion about losing one’s immortality was for her sake, then. “He’s going to take some deep breaths in the bathroom, if you were wondering. I wouldn’t take it personally. We’re all on edge, but he’s the rawest ball of nerves right now. You don’t have to tell me what you said, but…”

“He asked me how my immortality works, since it’s different from yours. It’s an odd story.” Instead of cutting to the exact sentence that upset Booker for some reason, Gadling wants to approach it gradually and gauge her reactions. 

She shrugs. “I can’t sleep anyway, and I’m not allowed to mix booze with antibiotics.”

“I was in a tavern in 1389, telling everyone that I intended to live forever. A mysterious stranger came up to me, asked if I was serious, and then told me to meet him for a drink there on that same date in a hundred years.”

“Are you saying you sold your soul to the devil or something?”

Gadling sighs, thinking back on the decades he wondered that same thing. “No, he wasn’t the devil, though I never took him for a human either. Pale as moonlight and eyes like black pools full of stars. I didn’t sell anything to him. He just wanted to talk. Every century, we met at the same place that always somehow stayed a tavern or pub throughout the ages.”

She looks thoughtful. “Nice tradition. Past tense?”

“Something...something happened a few decades ago. I’m not sure whether we’re still on for 2089, though it’s been made clear to me that my circumstances are the same otherwise.” Andy seems calm, even a little amused so far, so Gadling ventures the truth again. “I can only die if I truly wish for it.”

Andy’s laugh is short and bitter without escalating into hysteria. “I see why that set Booker off. Let me give you the short version of what you’ve stumbled into.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter because I've been blocked for awhile on all my projects and want to post *something* at last.

Gadling returns to bed before Booker shows himself again. There are a few moments in the night when he’s dimly aware of warmth next to him in the pull-out bed, close but not touching, and there’s a quiet comfort in that which makes him drift off again. 

(He dreams of long voyages, and a voice that whispers, _It was not within my domain to interfere, Hob, but I am glad that you are safe now_.) 

When he wakes properly, it’s to the smell of breakfast being cooked in the little kitchenette. The only humans present are Joe-and-Nicky. The paler one with a Roman nose is busy over the stove and the darker one with a beard is setting the table as quietly as possible. The latter notices that Gadling is awake, and gives him a smile that seems genuine enough.

“Sorry if we woke you. There comes a point where any activity is better than inactivity, you know? And Nicky made the good point that we could all use a hot meal.”

That answers the question of who is who, at least. “No worries. Can I help?”

“You can help with the dishes after,” Nicky says, turning to glance at him. Joe _sounds_ fairly American, like the others do, but Gadling has spent enough time on the Continent that he can easily identify the Italian accent in Nicky’s soft words. “If you want to shave, I opened a pack of disposable razors next to the sink.”

“Thank you.”

When Gadling returns from the bathroom, Joe and the women are seated at the table and Nicky is dishing out what looks like some kind of vegetable stew with chickpeas and various spices. It looks and smells like a Middle Eastern dish improvised from canned goods. There’s only one place left at the table, but Andy gestures for him to take it. No sign of Booker anywhere.

“Hi, I’m Nile,” the youngest-looking one of them says, who sits with military bearing but looks at him with kind eyes. 

“Gadling. I owe all of you thanks…” He takes a bite of the dish in front of him and adds, “Including this breakfast, which is much better than it has any right to be.”

Nicky’s lips twitch in a restrained smile. “We couldn’t just leave someone there.”

Andy doesn’t seem to have much appetite, given how much she’s just pushing her food around. “Do you have somewhere to go?” 

“I’ll be fine if you can get me to a branch of my bank and I can tell them my house burned down and I need a new card. I’ll use the money to get out of town for a bit. I take it you won’t be staying here long.”

She shakes her head. “Not after we’ve dealt with some loose ends. Including what to do about Booker. He’s going to meet us at a pub by the Thames at four o’clock.”

“If you help me get to my bank first, I can buy you a round, how about that?” He remembered that Andy was on antibiotics from the gunshot wound Booker gave her (bloody hell, what a mess). So he added, “Whether alcoholic or not. I could give you a personal email that I keep consistent, so if you ever need something...by which I mean safe harbor or being bailed out of jail, that sort of thing. I haven’t been a soldier since before bayonets became all the rage.” 

Andy points with her fork. “We’ll take you up on that. Give it to Nile. The youngest deals with the latest technology. It’s been that way ever since Nicky was the first of us to master crossbows.”

Joe mutters something in what sounds like an archaic precursor to Italian, something about Booker and making do. Gadling notices Nicky’s light touch on Joe’s wrist, and how the men’s eyes meet briefly. It’s somehow as intimate and tender as a kiss would be between most other couples. He wonders how long this pair of immortals lucky enough to be a good match have been together. He thinks of Gwen, which stings. Even though unlike everyone else he’s loved and lost, there’s a good chance she’s still alive. He hopes she’s thriving with someone who’s better for her. He thinks of Audrey (hit-and-run car accident), Manuel (AIDS), Jim/Peggy (the Blitz), Anne (fever), Lisabet (plague), Leanor (childbirth), John (Hundred Years’ War)...many women and the very, very occasional man, but all gone now. He’d seen some of them out of the corner of his eye after enough hours trapped in that lab. 

Nile breaks his reverie by saying, “Yeah, it’s cool, we can swap info. Can I ask you a few questions? I’m new to this. I thought I was normal until, like, three days ago.”

“I was born sometime in the mid to late 1350’s,” he says cheerfully, to get the obvious one out of the way. It’s also a strange relief to tell someone after all these centuries. Audrey’s grave doesn’t count. 

“When we rescued you and you were delirious, you apologized to me for something. Do you remember what it was?”

Gadling freezes. His mouth goes very dry. “You must have, er, reminded me of someone else.”

(He also dreamed of ships packed tight with ‘cargo’, and wealth tainted with blood and misery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The list of lost loves is a mixture of canon and my own addition. I headcanon that Gadling is mostly into women, but after all the time he's been alive, especially as a soldier and sailor, he's been a little flexible here and there. 
> 
> \- I will never tire of having the other characters not let Nicky forget that he's three years younger than Joe, and was therefore technically "the baby" until Booker joined.


End file.
